


Rebellion

by malchanceux



Series: Zanpakuto-Ichigo!Verse. [4]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous Plot Devices, Gen, Introspection, Sokyoku Hill, Soul Society Arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:24:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9359060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malchanceux/pseuds/malchanceux
Summary: From his cell in the Senzaikyu Tower, Ichigo's only view of the outside world is centered upon Sokyoku Hill, his soon-to-be place of execution. As the days pass, Ichigo's resentment and anger for the shinigami of Soul Society grows.Without hope of saving himself, Ichigo's only chance appears in the form of the very friends he had wanted to spare from the strife of the spirit world. Though stronger than ever before, the 'ryoka' may not be enough to save Ichigo from his death sentence.





	1. Chapter 1

The sky was a serene blue, spotted with thin, white clouds. A cool breeze carried the scent of tree blossoms and ripening fruit upon gentle tendrils, soft yet with the subtle sting of citrus. It was a beautiful afternoon, the sun glossing over the white buildings and peach hued shingles of the Seireitei. It was so clear--so inviting.

Ichigo stared out from his small window, looking down as shinigami came and left his view from the Senzaikyu Tower. His face was impassive, his fists limp in his lap. Ichigo’s temper had left him a week into his captivity, soon after he was transferred from a holding cell to… to where his green mile would begin, he supposed.

_ “This is where those destined for Sokyoku Hill can think upon the crimes they have committed in this life,”  _ one of the guards who had escorted him to his new prison had explained.  _ “Their crimes, and in your case… the crimes of their parentage.”  _

Emotions a whirl wind, Ichigo felt like a typhoon had opened up deep inside him, and the terrible rains would not cease. In just a week he had learned of so many secrets kept from him, so many betrayals. From friends, from family. He had so many questions, so much anger… and no one to turn to.

Rukia had visited once, just once. And that was best. His second day she had come to him, just before he was moved to Senzaikyu Tower.

_ “Ichigo, there is much I have to tell you,”  _ tears had slipped so carelessly down her cheeks, body trembling. A Captain stood ominous behind her, dark eyes sharp as a blade. Her escort, her jailer, her brother.  _ “And even more there is much I have to confess.” _

Rukia had known from the beginning who he was, who his  _ mother  _ had been. Recognized the blade and the release. She had  _ known  _ what kind of trouble she was risking for him, for his friends and his family. Yet Rukia had been so brazen--had asked so much of him. Ichigo was lucky-- _ lucky-- _ that the soulless Shinigami saw it fit to just kill him, Masaki Kurosaki’s eldest, and felt no need to exterminate his sisters or his father.

In the end, Ichigo’s execution was just a show--an example of what happened if you tried to abandon your duty as a Shinigami.

The soft scuffling of sandals outside his isolated holding chamber told Ichigo it was now late afternoon, when his second and final meal would be brought to him. As the heavy door slid open Ichigo glanced over his shoulder. Often, his meals were brought to him by a small and clumsy Shinigami. A healer, from what Ichigo had gathered. He was the only person to acknowledge the substitute, to say a simple ‘hello’ or to explain what was being brought to him to eat. It was small, but Ichigo did enjoy these interactions, clung to them even. It was madness simply staring out to your destined demise for hours on end.

Today, however, the healer was not who brought him his final meal of the day. Judging by the haori the tall, broad man was a Captain.

Ichigo glared, body tensing and fists clenching. Perhaps his temper had not entirely left him after all.

“I would say ‘good afternoon’, though unfortunately in these circumstances, I’m afraid it is not much of one,” the man said with tone of regret.

“Why are you here?” Ichigo growled.

“My name is Sousuke Aizen,” the shinigami ignored Ichigo’s outburst, instead seating himself at the small stone table carved out of the far wall. He placed the tray of food on the table, gesturing for Ichigo to have a seat across from him. “I am the Captain of the 5th Division.”

“Tsk, I gathered as much. That doesn’t explain why you’re here.” The redhead stood from his place by the window, but did not move to sit at the table. Stubbornly, cautiously, Ichigo kept his distance from the dark haired man.

“I must admit I am curious about you Kurosaki. After all, I knew your mother fairly well.”

Ichigo grit his teeth, crossing his arms so he could dig his fingers into his biceps instead of foolishly taking a swing at the Captain. They had all made it plenty clear early on that he had no power here, with or without the inhibitor collar clasped tightly around his neck.

“Come to gawk at the  _ traitors  _ spawn?” Ichigo spat. Despite it all, the redhead still felt fiercely protective of his mother's memory. If this is the life she was escaping, he could not fault her.

“No, I have come to have a word with an old friend's child.”

That brought Ichigo up short. There was a moment of silence in which Ichigo eyed the Captain with suspicion. He could not think of a reason for the man to deceive him in such a way.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “If my mother is considered a friend to anyone here, why am I being  _ executed  _ as a  _ traitor?” _

“Because the voice of the minority, unfortunately, goes unheard in Soul Society. There are not many of us left who still think fondly of Masaki Kurosaki.”

Expression stone, Ichigo kept his gaze level with the Captain. “But there are still those left? Who think ‘fondly’ of my mother?”

“Yes.”

A moment of silence. Ichigo uncurled his arms, fingers fidgeting at his sides instead; uncertain how to reply. 

He looked over his shoulder, gazing out the window and over the shinigami dotting the Seireitei likes ants. Before, Ichigo had been watching the enemy going about their day's work like they  _ weren’t  _ about to execute a teenager in the coming weeks. But now, looking out from his tower, he saw the potential for allies. Hope. A chance to go home and see his family again. 

Karin, Yuzu, Isshin…

Cautious still, Ichigo took the proffered seat across the Captain.

Uncertain what to say, Ichigo decided to get some answers to the millions of questions he had. “You said you were friends with my mother… Were you her Captain?”

A warm chuckle escaped Aizen, the older man folding his arms into his haori as he smiled warmly. 

“No, I cannot say I had that pleasure. Your mother was a bit of a free spirit--very enthusiastic in the shinigami arts. However, her kido left a bit to be desired. Because of this, she was not placed into my division. My squadron is known for their skill in focused spiritual pressure,” Aizen sat back in his chair, a faraway look in his eyes. Though lost in thought, the Captain was quick to collect himself. “However, I did help train her from time to time.”

“Even though you weren’t her Captain?” Ichigo asked dubiously.

“It’s not as rare as you might think. Different Captain’s are masters of different skill sets,” Aizen explained. “When your mother first officially came to me for advice, she was having trouble communicating with her zanpaktou. Masaki had been too embarrassed to admit this to her own Captain. I have a bit of an open door policy, so it’s not unusual for shinigami to come to me with these sort of requests.”

Ichigo sat there for a moment, staring down at the bland tray of food, digesting all the new information he was getting both about his mom and Soul Society--trying to piece together the warrior shinigami and loving mother into one person. It was hard to imagine. 

“Was she strong?”

“Very,” Aizen said, his tone taking a more serious turn. “Your mother left Soul Society while she was still just a seated Officer, but I have no doubt in my mind she could have become a Vice Captain in a matter of years. Where she lacked in kido she made up for in zanjutsu and hakuda, the art of the sword and the art of unarmed combat.”

Through the gloom, a warm ray of pride bubbled in Ichigo’s chest. His mother had been a powerful shinigami. In a strange way, hearing about where she lacked and where she excelled… It reminded Ichigo of his own ordeals in “training” with Rukia. Hearing similarities with how both he and his mother wielded their zanpaktou was surreal. 

Ichigo wanted to know more.

The door to the cell opened with a loud slide. Poking his head around the hinge, the small medical shinigami who normally brought Ichigo his meals peered timidly inside the room. 

“Oh, uh, Captain Aizen,” the smaller man seemed surprised. He came fully into the cell to give a proper bow. “I had been told the prisoner had already been brought his meal and I was coming to collect the tray. I didn’t realize that you had--or, uh. That you were still here.”

_ ‘Prisoner’  _ stung, a reminder of where Ichigo was and why.

“Hanataro Yamada,” Aizen addressed, standing from his place at the table. “I had heard you were assigned to the Senzaikyu Tower.”

“Uh, yes sir. For the time being.”

“I’m afraid I distracted poor Kurosaki from his meal. Forgive me for the interruption.”

“Not at all, Captain Aizen. I’ll just come back on my next round. No trouble at all, sir.”

“I’m glad,” Aizen turned to Ichigo. “I will have to cut our conversation short for today, it seems.”

Ichigo nodded; a ‘thank you’ at the tip of his tongue before he could catch himself. He would not thank his soon to be executioners.

As Aizen made his way out of the cell, he stopped just in front of the healer, resting a heavy hand on the slighter shinigami’s shoulder.

“Hanataro, I have a favor to ask of you,” warm eyes rested on the small soul reaper; a gentle smile belying his next words. “My bringing Ichigo his meal today… let’s keep that information to ourselves, shall we?”

“Y-yes, absolutely, sir,” Yamada answered without hesitation, though it was clear he was confused by the request. Ichigo could empathize.

“Thank you, Hanataro. Have a good evening.”

“You as well, Captain Aizen.”

Both prisoner and shinigami stood in silence as the sound of retreating sandals scuffed across the concrete flooring. When footsteps could no longer be heard, Hanataro shook himself from his reverie.

“I will be back,” he addressed Ichigo. “For your tray. Uh, just leave it on the table when you’re done.”

Ichigo raised an eyebrow but nodded that he understood all the same. When the healer left, the substitute picked at the long cold food, deep in thought. He did not taste the fork fulls that passed his lips; in his mind’s eye, a black-clad Masaki Kurosaki cut her way through Hollows, much in the way Ichigo had been during the last few months as Karakura’s sole protector.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The following week is patch work of stolen moments with the mysterious captain of the fifth division.

Stories of Misaki the _shinigami_ are given so freely, spoken so benevolently, where the rest of Soul Society spit his family name with venom. It was a stark contrast, oil meeting water, and it left Ichigo uncertain.

The substitute still held himself stiff, all sharp edges and biting tongue. He could not, after all, very well forget he was on death row. Not when his only view was of the sword he would be executed by.

On the third visit, Ichigo had tentatively asked about the process. How one completed an execution by Sokyoku.

Aizen was nothing but honest.

After that particular conversation, when Ichigo found himself alone with nothing but the broken glass of a tea set so thoughtful provided by the captain, and his own, stinging cuts across his hands. The substitute could not quite distinguish if the captain’s honesty was a kindness or a form of torture.

Aizen returned the next morning as though Ichigo had not smashed his teapot and cups to pieces the day prior. The quiet conversation of the fierce and stubborn Masaki Kurosaki continued as though it had never stopped.

Once one of the male members of the 11th division had gotten drunk and handsy with his mother, Aizen told him. She had taken an utter offence, and declared when the man had sobered the next day she would duel him. The other shinigami had been a seated officer at the time, average in ranking but still much higher than Masaki herself. And though the Officer had laughed, Misaki had kicked his ass the following morning simply to prove a point.

She stole his rank right from under him come that following year, smirk never leaving her lips.

“Persistent and prideful,” Aizen said at the end of that story. “But honorable and kind as well. I distinctly remember Misaki helping that same officer during training down the road, and soon he was making his way up the ranks along side Misaki herself. They became friendly, in the end. Comrades in arms.”

A thoughtful pause.

“She would make her opinion clear, but Misaki was never cruel.”

A trait Ichigo wished the rest of Soul Society shared.

 

 

 

After a week of strange and reverent conversations with Captain Aizen Sousuke, an explosion of reiatsu sends Soul Society into a frenzy.

From his window at the top of Senzaikyu Tower, the substitute watched as a bright ball of light blasted through the sky, shattering a before unseen barrier around the inner sanctum of Soul Society. A resounding _boom_ echoed loudly across the sky, so intense even with as far away as it was from the redhead’s prison.

Ichigo knows what is happening the moment the swirling ball breaches the barrier. He can feel the familiar reiatsu of his friends amongst the sea of enemies that surrounded him. Ichigo’s knee jerk reaction is elation. Ishida is _alive_ for one, and he’s come with Orihime and Chad to rescue him!

As the substitute watches the bright ball of reiatsu break into five pieces in a messy landing, dread grips his heart. Ichigo’s friends had come to save him.

They were going to die.

 

 

 

The next four days is absolute torture.

Ichigo does not eat the food that is brought to him, he does not respond when Hanataro prods him; hardly notices Aizen’s sudden absence. Ichigo does not move from his vigil at his single window. He cannot see his friends, but he concentrates with all his might to follow them with their reiatsu. They are hiding themselves well, their training shining through; the only times Ichigo is aware of where they are and what they are doing is when they are attacked by a shinigami.

At those times Ichigo’s heart hammers in his chest, palms sweaty, knuckles white where he grips his kimono in a vice.

One by one, his friends are defeated. Chad is first. There is a blast of reiatsu from both him and someone else much more powerful. The confrontation only lasts a few minutes before Chad’s presence, powerful and determined in Ichigo’s mind's eye, all but vanishes. There is no spirit ribbon for Ichigo to grab onto at the end of it, just the tiny strands of fraying threads.

Chad is still alive, barely, and it’s all Ichigo can do not to scream.

He punches the wall hard enough to break his knuckles and draw blood. He leaves the smear of crimson, lets it dry. The sight of it has his mind playing an endless loop of the exact moment he felt Chad crumble to his opponent.

Ichigo hadn’t realized he had still been holding onto any form of hope for his friends’ success in rescuing him. It withers and dies with Chad’s defeat.

 

 

 

Ishida is the next to fall to the shinigami. His confrontation seems to last an eternity. Throughout, Ichigo thinks he can sense Orihime in the thick of it, but the feeling is there and gone so quick he can’t be sure.

Much in the same manner as Chad, it all comes to a sudden halt with an explosion of spiritual power. Ichigo has never been good at controlling his reiatsu, as Rukia had always liked to remind him, but in those last moments of Ishida’s battle Ichigo swears he can sense the _resignation_ deep in the Quincy’s soul.

In the end another spirit ribbon turns to tatters, teasing Ichigo by floating just out of reach.

 

 

 

On the fifth day of his his friends charge into Soul Society, Ichigo’s constant anxiety is disrupted by another visit from the inscrutable Captain Sousuke Aizen.

The young shinigami substitute is standing at his single window, eyes staring out amongst the Seireitei but unseeing. He has been searching for Orihime’s spiritual ribbon for hours. She has not surfaced since Ishida was defeated, but Ichigo had not sensed her fall. Knowing the Quincy, he had her bolt the moment he realized he wasn’t going to win the fight. But with Chad and Ishida down, where did Orihime have to run? Who was going to help her?

Ichigo thinks back to when his friends first broke through the invisible force protecting Soul Society; remembers there were five balls of light that fell. Thus far Ishida, Chad, and Orihime had been accounted for. But who were the mystery intruders that had come with his friends? Could it be the strange man Urahara?

“Hello, Kurosaki,” a warm voice greets him from behind.

Ichigo jolts from surprise, eyes snapping to whoever had spoken. He takes in Aizen in his Captain’s uniform, a somber smile sliding across his lips and another tray set for tea in his hands. Ichigo had been so caught up in soul-searching, he hadn’t heard the man enter his cell.

Anger curls about his fear and stress like a coiling snake. Ichigo’s feelings toward the Captain have been strained the last few days. He has both yearned for the man to come back and for him to never return; has longed for more stories about his deceased mother and wished death upon any shinigami who dare utter her name. The captain had been nothing but kind in his very limited interactions, but Aizen still pledged himself to the organization who planned to execute Ichigo; that had been tracking down and all but slaughtering his friends.

“What are you doing here?” Ichigo snaps. A hurricane has opened up in his soul, his emotions in utter turmoil.

Aizen turns to place another tray of tea on the rooms only table.

“I had first thought to leave you alone,” the captain confesses. “I cannot begin to understand what you must be feeling, knowing what is happening to your friends right now--the ryoka.”

 _“Shut up!”_ Ichigo screams, fury bubbling to the surface. How dare this man speak of them. How dare he when one by one they fell fighting _his_ fellow shinigami.

Ichigo fixed the captain with a glare that could kill--he reached desperately within himself, searching for the power that had helped him against Hollows; against the red-haired bastard that had come for Rukia not weeks ago in the human world.

 _“Tsuyokunaru… Tsuyokunaru…”_ he thought feverently, trying to reach deep within for the strength that had been awoken by Rukia’s blade. But no matter how hard he tried--no matter how hard he concentrated--the kido spells cast about the tower and the collar around his neck kept his inner power locked away, untouchable.

Even the voice who had reached out to Ichigo twice now in his time of need remained muted.

Aizen held his gaze for a moment, silence deafening in the wake of Ichigo’s outburst. His face had morphed from a pleasant, sympathetic smile into an expression void of emotion. It was disconcerting, unnerving.

Slowly, as though to not provoke a startled animal, the captain reached into his sleeve, and pulled out something small. It glimmered within his loose fist, and Ichigo raised his chin in defiance. Would this be another kido spell?

When Aizen places one of Orihime’s hair clips on the tray holding the steaming tea pot, Ichigo feels his heart stutter in his chest and his legs nearly giving out from beneath him. He braced himself against the wall.

“There are those who disagree with much of what the Central 46 deems fair judgement,” Aizen says simply. “With how the Soul King stands by and watches as these _judgements_ unfold.”

“I don’t understand,” Ichigo whispers. Was this a threat? An olive branch? It terrified him that he could not read the older man. “What do you want from me?”

“I will not tell you I came here without ulterior motives; I won’t insult your intelligence,” the captain answered as he sat at the small stone table. He poured himself and Ichigo a cup of tea. “I want to make a deal.”

“A deal?” Ichigo scoffed. “I have nothing to offer you.”

“You severely underestimate yourself,” Aizen sipped at the tea, his eyes piercing, holding Ichigo in place like an insect under a microscope.

Silence. Ichigo continues to stare, mind a flurrying _mess_ , unable to keep up.

“Perhaps instead of asking what you can offer me, you should be asking what _I_ can offer _you._ ”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Are you sure about that, Kurosaki? I would take a moment to reconsider. Locked away in this tower, powerless and awaiting your execution, you don’t have a single wish in the world? You need only name a desire, Ichigo Kurosaki. I can make it happen.”

“I don’t--” Ichigo stopped short. Confused, overwhelmed. Anything, any desire Aizen had said, and immediately he thought--

“My friends,” Ichigo said. It came out quick and breathless, a thought half formed and rushing from his lips. It was a statement, a question, a plea.

Aizen smiled. It was not solem, it was not sympathetic. It was soft yes, his lips--but his eyes held a razor sharp sort of gratification.

_Victory. Like he has been validated._

“Loyalty is something your mother held dear,” Aizen said, “It was perhaps her most defining trait. Some may argue that her leaving Soul Society proves this false--but they would be wrong. Your mother was torn during the months leading up to her departure. For her to have left, the bond with your father must have been something truly unique.”

Tears formed, blurring Ichigo’s vision. He remembered how his mother and father used to gaze at one another--how much they had _loved_ each other.

“I can see your mother in your physical features, but more so in how you treat the world around you. Prideful, rash, stubborn, kind-- _loyal._ ”

“You knew I would place my friends safety over all else. Over my own survival.”

“I did.”

“So you asking was just a test, to see what I would say--to see if you were right. But why? What’s the point? What do you _want!”_

“Your loyalty,” the captain replied simply. As though it were simple at all. “The same devotion you have for your friends and family. The willingness to face impossible odds.”

“What does my loyalty matter, if I’m going to be dead in a matter of _days?”_

A knowing glint in dark eyes.

“It is pointless to make a deal with a dead-man, isn’t it?” Aizen mused outloud, and for a moment Ichigo thought the captain was fucking with him. Had been stringing him along this whole time, his temper rose to impossible heights--

But that didn’t make sense. The captain sounded so sincere--gone was the kindly captain who _cared_ for an old colleague's son, and here stood a calculating deviant with a bone to pick with this so called _‘Soul King’._

Well, Ichigo had a bone to pick with him too.

“It would be a moot point,” Ichigo agreed. “And you don’t seem like the kind of man who would follow pointless endeavours.”

“Never.” Aizen smiled something proud, as though he hadn’t been sure Ichigo would follow along.

Indignant, Ichigo prickled. He turned away from the captain. Two-faced, at the very least. And at worst…

_The enemy of my enemy._

But was Aizen Sousuke even truly an enemy?

Everything was spiralling so quickly out of control.

But this was a chance, a sliver of hope where there had been none before. Orihime, Ishida, Chad… they could make it out of this mess alive. And all Aizen wanted was his loyalty.

What was Ichigo if not faithful to his friends, whose lives now hung in the balance? To give his word now to Aizen would be to hold up his prerogative to keep his friends alive.

He did not have any other options.

“You have it,” Ichigo said then. “My loyalty--whatever it is you want from me, want me to do for you. If my friends are spared, consider it done.”

A firm hand gripped at his shoulder.

“Thank you, Kurosaki. I will not abuse your trust in our arrangement. Your friends will walk free from Soul Society--they will not have to bare the cruelties of the Central 46.”

Ichigo glanced over his shoulder as Aizen turned away, leaving his tea set behind--cups still steaming.

“Hanataro will be here within the hour with your dinner. Though you may not feel like stomaching it, I urge you to keep your strength up, Kurosaki,” a meaningful glance. “You will need it.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you may have noticed, this series spans a few years. I started this back in 2013. With so much time between updates, I'm sure it is no surprise I have changed my mind of where this story is going at least several dozen times. When I have finished this piece, I have considered writing a fanfic remix that incorporates everything into just one chaptered story. 
> 
> The whole reason I began this as a series was to avoid my inability to stick with and regularly update chaptered work. As you can tell with this particular fic, there is no rhyme or reason for when a new chapter appears. It is based simply on whimsy and sudden flashes of both motivation and inspiration. Not that it worked out. Only the first two installments managed to remain one-shots.
> 
> TL;DR: I will be remixing the whole series once this work is completed. Grammar and plot-holes will be fixed, and a possibility of art added for better effect.

For twenty-four blessed hours, Ichigo Kurosaki is at peace. He turns his gaze away from the single window allotted to his cell, he stops searching for Orihime, Chad, and Ishida. He does not wonder who the mystery 'ryoka' are. For the first time in weeks, since he first woke a prisoner of Soul Society, Ichigo Kurosaki lets his eyes fall closed and imagines what freedom will feel like.

Ichigo does not fret over semantics. He instead entertains the notion of returning home like the whole shinigami chapter of his life had never taken place. Returning to school and the pressures of good grades and college applications; his friends beside him, bright and enthusiastic. Not a single scar to show for their time amongst soul reapers. It felt otherworldly to let someone else take control, and to only need to believe in their success.

Ichigo's imagination coaxes him into a good night's rest, met only by vague dreams of his father and sisters welcoming him home.

 

 

 

 

A peak of spiritual power unlike Ichigo has ever felt jolts him from his sleep. The room is dark, only lit by the light of the moon. Ichigo gazes out his one window aimlessly. Whatever has happened took place far from his tower, but habit has him searching what little of the perimeter he can see. He tries to pick apart the reiatsu that lingers in the air, decipher if it is any of his friends that have been cut down. A battered, bright ribbon skirts his senses. It feels familiar, vaguely so, like taking in a face you have only ever passed by before, never studying it in detail. A stranger in a crowd one frequented often.

There is a scream, then--it is distant, from the opposite side of the Seireitei then where the spike of spiritual pressure originated. A woman's, though Ichigo thanks whatever god is paying attention it is not Orihime's.

"What the hell is going on?" he whispers to himself. He cannot tell what time it is, but for the rest of the evening sleep eludes him. It is not his friends that have suffered this evening, for which he grateful, but a weight sits in his stomach. Dread, a feeling he has become well acquainted with since his imprisonment, creeps over feelings of relief and hope like an overgrown vine.

Ichigo can feel that something has happened--something significant. Like the world's path had been turned on its axis, some grand omniscient power's scheme breaking off its railings and hurtling toward a now unknown destination.

For better or for worse.

 

 

 

 

In the early morning, a shinigami Ichigo has never seen before brings him his meal. She is quiet--locked away in her own head, too absorbed in her own thoughts for a simple hello. Then again, perhaps this was normal behavior. Yamada had always been so kind, so open. Even to a complete stranger such as Ichigo.

Perhaps the cold shoulder he received now was more one came to know when awaiting their execution.

"The date has been moved," the woman said as she turned to leave, dispassionate. "You will be brought before the Sokyoku in three days."

With her back to him, shoulders stiff and voice a void, this shinigami so easily colluded in his murder. With the shock of it all, Ichigo could not think of what to say. If he should inquire why, or protest. Remain silent, or scream his displeasure like he had the first few days of imprisonment?

In the end he does nothing. The shinigami leaves and he stays rooted in place, sitting on his knees by his window. He cannot bring himself to look out at the horizon, however. To let his gaze settle on the Sokyoku--what was meant to be the last thing he’d ever see. Dark thoughts clouded his judgement, rattle the nerves that had been previously steeled by Aizen’s apparent support. Their deal.

 _“I urge you to keep your strength up,”_ had been the Captain’s parting words. Ichigo lets the baritone voice play over and over and _over_ to get his body to cooperate, to _move._ At least an hour must pass before he finds the will to get off the floor and eat the food left behind. His knees protest the action, sore and cramped from disuse.

Depression in its most basic form. The food tasted like ash in his mouth and just lifting the chopsticks to his lips seemed laborious. With every bite he reminded himself that there was hope, that someone as powerful as a captain wanted him alive. Had promised to get his friends out of Soul Society alive.

The deal with Sousuke Aizen would be the beacon to see him through the next few days. Ichigo clutched onto their conversation like a child a security blanket.

“You have my loyalty,” Ichigo said to himself, once he had finished his breakfast. “Now get us the hell out of here.”

  
  


 

 

Ichigo is not sure what to make of his new caretaker. She is lithe, but strong. He can tell in the confident way she holds herself. Another dead give-away is the badge on her arm labeling her a _Vice Captain._

He hadn’t noticed it before, he’s ashamed to say. Too caught up in her announcement of his _execution date._

She was brisk, and a certain ice was in her voice when she spoke. But her eyes were gentle by nature, her movements practiced and concise, but not aggressive. Aizen had once commented that Hanataro’s kind nature suited him for his position within the 4th Division: a unit set aside for those most skilled in healing kido. This woman, though she tried to hold herself as though made of stone, was made of the same gentle disposition as Hanataro Yamada.

This logic is what eventually gives Ichigo enough courage to speak directly to her.

“What happened to Hanataro?” he asks, voice gruff from disuse. Along with the healers sudden absence, Aizen had not visited since Ichigo pledged allegiance. It was a curious, anxiety-inducing coincidence.

Though the question seemed innocent enough to the blond, the woman’s shoulders grow impossibly tense. She picks up his dinner tray with an air of sorrow, guilt, and anger.

“Is he okay?” Ichigo prods, her reaction only stirring his paranoia.

“No,” the Vice Captain growled. “No, he isn’t. But you would know that, wouldn’t you?”

“What?”

“You used his kind nature against him; you confused him.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you? You coerced him into helping the ryoka,” she snapped. “But Hanataro wasn’t one for stealth or for fighting. Captain Gin caught him in the act--”

A wet huff in frustration. “Now he’s a prisoner within his own _division.”_

“I didn’t-- He tried to help my friends? Was that what the spiritual pressure was from last night?”

“Don’t act stupid. It’s not going to work on me,” actual tears slipped down her cheeks, but when she held Ichigo’s gaze, he saw only hate. “You turned Hanataro with your innocent act, but I’m not falling for it. He freed the other ryoka, and now Captain Aizen is--”

The Vice Captain caught herself, realizing how much she had given away.

“Captain Aizen? What about him?” Ichigo urged, panic jittering to life in his limbs.

 _“Don’t speak his name,”_ she hissed. “Nor Hanataro’s ever again. You and your _followers_ have done _enough_ . You may feel emboldened that your ploy worked, but know your _ryoka_ will be imprisoned once more and sentenced by the Central 46 before your ashes have a chance to settle; blood for blood. I am Isane Kotesu, Vice Captain of the 4th Division: you will not fool me with a sad story and pleasant words. You will live out the _remainder_ of your sentence with me as your warden and death as your future.”

Kotesu gripped the food tray in a white-knuckled grip, tears slipping freely as agony and spite mixed in with her words.

“They say the Senzaikyu Tower is for those who are destined for demise, so that their soul may find peace, humility, and rest. You do not deserve such a kindness, Ichigo _Kurosaki,”_ she spat his name like a curse. “When you burn on that hill, I wish only that dread is your sole companion.”

  


 

 

It didn’t take a lot to piece together Sousuke Aizen’s fate from the vice captain’s sharp words. He was dead, or at least gravely injured. The question then was how and by whom?

As much as Ichigo believed in his friends, he knew better than to assume they could overtake a captain ranked shinigami, even if Kotesu implied otherwise. Hell, a vice captain incapacitated Uryuu in a single blow, and then Ichigo in his next strike. Even together--Chad, Uryuu, and Orihime--it was too far fetched for them to have out-matched a spirit who had been a captain since before any of them were even born.

And then there was Hanataro: how did he tie into everything? Had he betrayed his own principles, his friends and comrades, to break the _‘ryoka’_ out of their apparent imprisonment?

As kind and gentle as the healer had seemed, Yamada did not seem like the type to resort to violence. Even _if_ he had decided to try and intervene on Ichigo’s friends behalf, it just didn’t add up.

None of it made any kind of sense.

It was hard to concentrate, hard to follow the chain of events and come to a reasonable conclusion. It seemed that all Ichigo’s body could process now was raw panic.

Without Sousuke Aizen, Ichigo was a dead man walking.

Ichigo pulled out the single, blue hair clip from his kimonos sleeve. If he was going to die, even if his friends had been freed, surely it was only a matter of time before Soul Society caught up with them. They would act foolishly, they would still try to rescue him. Ichigo knew this because in their position, he would do the same.

Ichigo’s gaze turned to the horizon, peaking out his single window; his view of the Sokyoku.

The hope that had lulled him asleep just a day ago was gone, the building calm the last few weeks had invoked had left him. Perhaps Vice Captain Kotesu would get her wish, because now… now all Ichigo Kurosaki knew was dread.

 

 

 

 

Three days.

Forty-eight hours.

That's all the time he had to live.

Tears would not come, though Ichigo felt like he was flooding on the inside.

When he slept, it was in fits and starts. Behind closed eyelids he saw only rain, could hear the low rumble of a distant thunder. He stood on tempered glass, the vague shape of skyscrapers coming into a sloppy focus. Silhouettes and the smell of sun-heated concrete, the sound of rain hitting gravel.

Distantly, dispassionately, Ichigo wondered if these fever dreams were the ‘inner world’ Rukia had tried so hard to make him see. All the training in the world could not seem to get the red head in contact with his inner self, however, so he could not be certain.

Not that it mattered anymore. An accomplishment before his demise, so inconsequential in the end. The barren city, in the few moments he glimpsed it, flooded and cracked in the face of Ichigo’s helplessness--his despair. An emptiness at the core of himself; a reflection of all the resolve he had left.

Ichigo stopped eating, and after the third ignored meal Kotesu stopped bringing them in. He was truly isolated then, and his mind was left to wander. The lack of sleep and food took its toll quickly, he could feel himself start to lose his grip.  In an endless loop the faces, his friends and family flashed and faded to ash.

Orihime and Chad would never graduate; waste their lives to face impossible odds.

Uryuu would be executed by the organization he hated so vehemently.

Yuzu and Karen would never see their big brother again.

Ichigo’s father would have to suffer the fate of out living his child…

“Was all of this,” Ichigo croaked to himself, voice a wreck from unshed tears and the self-inflicted quiet. “Was my life for nothing?”

 

 

 

 

Three days later, Vice Captain Isane Kotesu comes to collect her charge. She is expressionless as she leads in several hooded figures to his cell. All are silent. Ichigo fears if any one of them were to speak, the air itself might shatter.

They prepare him for the walk from Senzaikyu Tower to Sokyoku Hill with an air of apathy. Ichigo is adorned with a new, crisp white kimono. Attached to his collar are several long, red tubes, all joining to strange, eight foot tall staffs. He doesn’t bother to ask; though he is a foreigner in their world he knew enough to reread into context clues. This ritual they are complete, the staffs and the collar and the strange robed men, it is all to keep him powerless as he is walked to his execution.

The final piece is a veil, white as the walls around him and the clothes that adorn him. Ichigo realizes that this is a fruition of a ritual building upon itself for weeks: they have striped him of his possessions, his power, his individuality. The kimono and veil must have been worn by others before him; he is a drop in the ocean. Faceless in a crowd.

“Does it make it easier,” Ichigo hisses passed a dry throat and chapped lips. “Not having to look at the person you’re sentencing to death?”

“For me, after what you did to Hanataro--to Captain Aizen?” he hears Kotesu answer. “Not at all; _I_ wouldn’t need the veil.”

Despite the anger he hears in her voice, there is a waiver in her conviction. It might not be a lie, but it is certainly not the whole truth. It pulls at his heart--the sluggish, tired thing in his chest--because though he is committed to painting all of Soul Society with the same, broad brush, Ichigo knows people like Rukia Kuchiki live within its walls. People like Hanataro Yamada. Sousuke Aizen. His mother, the first half of her life.

Good people.

It is not so simple to hate in a world tinted grey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the last chapter, but I got carried away with Ichigo's introspection. Chapter 4 should be the execution, and the final chapter of 'Rebellion'. Interestingly enough, the next chapter is actually the series of scenes I wanted to write from the very beginning. It's weird to think that everything else was just leading up to this for me; when I imagined the execution scene with Ichigo VS Rukia, I could not--for the life of me--just write up a random alternate scene without the build up.
> 
> Smh. Longest damn slow-build.


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